


A Spot of Sunshine

by LarasLandlockedBlues



Category: Fairy Tales & Related Fandoms, Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Angst, Character Death, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fairy Tale Style, Implied Sexual Content, Magic, Magical Pregnancy, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Original Mythology, Original Universe, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pregnancy, References to Wicca and Lore, Supernatural Elements, The Grumpy One is Soft For the Sunshine One, Vampires, Vignette, Witchcraft, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:53:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 7,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27108268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LarasLandlockedBlues/pseuds/LarasLandlockedBlues
Summary: “Some people seemed to get all sunshine, and some all shadow…”― Louisa May Alcott, Little Women
Relationships: Original Female Character(s)/Original Non-Human Character(s), Original Witch/Original Vampire
Comments: 48
Kudos: 17





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> In honor of Spooky Season and the upcoming Blue Moon on Samhain this year, I got this idea for an original little fairy tale-styled romance between a witch and a vampire. Will be told as little ficlets each chapter, and also cross-posted to Tumblr.
> 
> Happy Spooky Month! xx,
> 
> Lara

At the height of a lunar eclipse on a Full Moon that aligned with Ostara, a woman chose to lay with her husband, intending to try to conceive a child.

It was just as any other attempt they had made, as far as they were concerned. Candles were lit, words of love and affirmation spoken, their intentions clear in their minds. They wanted a child.

Little did they know they were invoking an ancient ritual, manifesting more than simply desire for a child.

The exact moment of the husband’s climax aligned perfectly with the pinnacle of the eclipse and the sabbat. He did not know he was a living descendant of Merlin, nor did his wife realize she was the last woman in a line of witches who had managed to flee Salem.

All they knew was that they were ready to begin their family.

They had not been trying long, though long enough that when a random pregnancy test came up positive, they were surprised.

And then pleased.

The pleasure continued as the pregnancy progressed without any issues or hiccups. Morning sickness never came, and once the child began moving, the kicks felt more like pleasant taps. To say that it was simply a wonderful experience would have been an understatement.

At dawn, nine months to the day of the eclipse, the woman awoke to the slightest pressure, and a moment later her water broke. She was surprised only to a point of letting out a soft “oh!” before she realized what it meant. While her husband rushed around the house, grabbing the bag they had readied before helping her into the car, she marveled at how pleasant and exhilarated she felt.

The doctor and nurses at the hospital were in awe at the ease with which the birth progressed, and within only an hour the baby had been delivered. In all the doctor’s long years, he had never witnessed such an uncomplicated birth.

Wrapped in a hospital blanket, the baby was passed to her mother, who stared down at her with wonder — tinged by a slight trepidation she could not place.

Their daughter was beautiful, and surprisingly awake. Her eyes were already open, and it might have been a trick of the light, but while one was a deep, crystal blue, the other was a pale, bottle green. She stared up with a wide gaze fringed with beautiful dark lashes, and seemed almost as if she was studying or even appraising the faces of her parents leaning over her.

They studied her in turn, amazed by the strange child who seemed to bear little resemblance to either of them. Both husband and wife had hair as black as night, with eyes the color of espresso. The child they had conceived was their opposite, with a thick tangle of golden curls atop her round head.

Yet despite the curiousness of their child and her birth, her parents found themselves elated as they cooed at her.

They named her Maeve.


	2. Chapter 2

If her birth had been unusual, the months and years that followed were moreso.

Maeve never cried, yet her parents always seemed to know what she needed simply by looking at her. There was a depth to her eyes that always seemed to impart a thought, and they instinctively knew how to help.

Despite their ancestry, her parents were incredibly, almost boringly, ordinary. Any power they tapped into was a result of complete and oblivious happenstance on their parts. Friends and family alike were amazed at how calm and angelic Maeve was, but thought nothing beyond the fact that every child was different, and she just seemed happier than most.

Her golden locks continued to grow as she did, until her cherubic face was surrounded by bouncy curls before the age of two. She was never ill, and slept through the night without any struggle or coaxing from her parents. Once she began talking, it was in clear, short sentences that conveyed everything that needed to be said. Her first steps were graceful, and she carried herself with a self-assurance that went beyond regular curiosity and drive typical of one so young.

As she grew older, she remained serene and inquisitive, quietly observing the world around her. Yet her parents found themselves unnerved at times by the things she said in response to her observations, and often wondered if she was simply an imaginative child.

Or if there was perhaps something more at play.

She spoke of dreams in which she communed with spirits, or enjoyed what she claimed were past lives. More than once she told them of a dream in great detail, only for it to come true later that day or the next. 

They soon found that they could not leave her unattended in their backyard, for animals from the surrounding woods often found their way into the vast, open green space to sit in Maeve’s company.

No matter the animal, she was never disturbed by their presence, and seemed instead as if she spoke with them. Several times an injured fawn or bird sought solace with her, and by the time her mother managed to scare them out of the yard they had miraculously healed.

At the age of five, her kinship with animals finally drove her parents to their limits on a family camping trip.

While setting up the tent, they lost sight of her, and in a moment of panic ran into the woods calling her name. When they found her, her mother choked on a scream, and her father searched frantically for a branch to use as a weapon.

Yet Maeve merely turned from the family of brown bears, scratching one of the cubs’ ears as she smiled brightly.

“Look who I’ve met,” she greeted her parents. “This one is Henry, and —”

The introductions were cut short when her parents fearfully demanded that she back away.

Her confusion at their reaction only increased when they began her in therapy the very next day.


	3. Chapter 3

Magic has existed longer than the universe as we know it. After all, how else did all come to be?

So many deny its existence it was no surprise the parents of a child such as Maeve were blind to what she really was. As the years went on, they only became more perplexed.

Test after test, therapist after therapist, specialist after specialist, and they still had little idea what to make of Maeve. To their daughter's credit, she accepted their search with little resentment, allowing that they were merely concerned. It all came from a place of love, and so she cooperated, even if she wondered why any of it was necessary. 

As she grew, she was better able to control her "little quirks," until her parents believed perhaps she had simply been an unusually perceptive little girl. Still, there were nights the moon called to her, and she would slip from her bed to find her friends waiting at the wire fence her parents had erected.

Some nights they were creatures unlike any she learned about in the small village school, who gazed at her with strange, glowing eyes. It was in her sixteenth year that a short, human-like creature found her under the darkness of a New Moon. As they considered her, a smile slowly formed on their lilac face.

 _"Child of the Moon,"_ they called her, their lilting voice like the crest of a wave. _"Daughter of the Goddesses. Please, our wings were singed, and we need help from one such as yourself."_

"Me?" Maeve cocked her head as she considered the hunched, shivering figure before her.

" _Is it possible you do not know, you who bear the aura of one blessed by Hekate?"_ One emerald eyebrow, wispy as if only smoke, rose with skepticism. 

In an instant, her life made sense. The dreams she had every night since birth, the way animals sought her out, the times she _knew_ she had healed some by laying her hands on them and singing.

Even this strange creature, who she was certain spoke in an unusual tongue, yet she understood them perfectly. Emboldened by this knowledge, Maeve reached a hand to glossy wings reminiscent of a dragonfly’s. They were tinged with black along the edges, painfully crinkled and charred.

Maeve laid her hands on them, ruminating on how beautiful they must have been, what pain the poor creature must be in, until they began to mend and shimmered silver.

" _Thank you, moon child."_ The creature flexed their wings, testing them, before giving her one last pointy smile and departing.

It was the first time she had been conscious of doing it, and now she was aware of the tingling in her fingers, the warmth in her core, near her heart.

From that day she knew why she was special, why so much of nature sought her out. As with everything in life, though, where there is knowledge there is hardship, and where there are blessings there are curses.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW parental death

As time progressed, Maeve became certain of three things.

First, that she was a witch. Second, that most people did not believe in magic, and so she was alone in this discovery, adrift in a sea of new, wonderful possibilities.

And third — that her parents were going to die.

This latter piece of knowledge came to her in a dream, with such clarity she knew better than to doubt it.

It was further confirmed when she used the tarot deck she had purchased on a visit to town to further divine what the dream showed. To her disappointment the cards confirmed, with absolute certainty, that this was an unavoidable tragedy she would have to face.

There was time before she was to be orphaned. Deciding fate was something she couldn’t fight, she realized at least she had the blessing of knowledge. In the short weeks leading to her parents’ demise, she was able to enjoy time spent with them. She savored every moment, worked to memorize every smile, every lilt of their voices.

They even went camping again — although Maeve did her best to wait to visit the woodland creatures until after her parents were asleep.

When it came time she awoke with the dawn, and lay in bed thinking about how much was going to change. She could hear her father snoring from their bedroom down the hall, and as the sun continued its climb sounds of her mother beginning the day reached her.

Maeve rose once she heard the kettle _ding_ , and wrapped herself tightly in her robe. She offered to cook, and made their favorite dishes. They were surprised but grateful, and thought nothing more of it.

Her mother told her they were headed into town, and asked if she wished to go with them. Maeve smiled sadly and demurred, saying instead she would stay behind to do housework.

Pleasantly surprised once more, her parents nodded grateful acceptance before they began to pull on their coats. Their daughter hugged them tightly at the door, and made certain she told them she loved them.

She stood watching their car for as long as she could, until at last it disappeared behind the horizon. Then she closed the door and walked to the sitting room, where she took a seat and stared into the fire for longer than she knew.

It wasn’t until evening that there was a knock on the door, finally pulling her from her deep meditative state. There was no surprise to find a constable standing there, a somber expression on his face. There was no shock to hear what he had to say.

Instead she felt a numb acceptance, and asked how long before she could make arrangements.

Maeve had always felt alone, out of place in a world that no longer seemed to have a use for one such as her. 

To actually be alone, though, was more heartbreaking than she had been able to prepare herself for, even with the gift of foresight.


	5. Chapter 5

Years passed, and Maeve began to settle into her solitary life in her family’s cottage with mindfulness, never allowing it to feel like confinement.

She spent her time learning her craft, gathering herbs from the woods and creating a sanctuary for healing. It felt natural to her, a calling she was more than happy to answer.

Strange visitors became more regular, as though word was passing among the Otherworld of a witch who could cure all ails and provide respite for any who needed one. As time continued, she carved out spaces in the yard surrounding her cottage, removing the fence her parents had erected. Sometimes the woodland and Otherworld creatures simply needed a place to stay for the night, or to shelter from cold or squalls, and she created a welcoming environment for all.

Life was peaceful, and she soon had so many visitors that she no longer felt entirely alone. Through everything she was finding her purpose, one she knew few others could serve.

There was still a strange solitude in being a part of two worlds. In the village and at her work in the nearby animal sanctuary, she was a part of This World, the only one most people ever knew. At the cottage, she found her place in the Otherworld, keeping company with such amazing beings as mortals could only dream to comprehend.

Yet she never fully belonged to either world.

Tapping into the secrets of her ancestors, finding connection to the Goddesses and learning more about herself soothed any melancholy she might have otherwise felt. She aged more slowly than mortals, and knew she had a long life ahead of her.

Spending it in despair was not an option.

Most of her new companions were from the Light, drawn to her serene white aura. Fae and creatures of Nature, Spirits of the Woods and the Elements, Nymphs, and a White Stag that inhabited the forest were frequently to be found relaxing in the greenery behind the cottage.

It was always a peaceful environment, which is why the sudden agitation and skittishness of her visitors one night caused her alarm. They fled into the forest, and she frowned as she looked around her now empty yard.

The moonlight caught on a shape at the side of her house, which was dragging itself haltingly toward her.

Despite how her heart raced, she stood from where she had knelt tending to a Gnome’s injured finger. Clutching the damp rag in her hand more tightly, she took a deep breath and walked closer to the shadows.

“Hello?” she called, squinting to see through the darkness. After another deep breath she grounded herself and held up a hand, summoning the light of the moon into her palm.

In the silvery glow she raised above her head she saw a young man, skin pale as the light that cast upon his battered figure.

“Please,” he croaked, plaintively glancing up at her.

It was all he said, but Maeve’s eyes widened.


	6. Chapter 6

Pointy teeth gleamed in the moonlight.

They weren’t bared in threat, but rather pain. His brows were furrowed in a deep grimace, lips curled back, and he coughed as he tried to push himself into a sitting position.

“Please, I was — I was told you could help,” he gasped out.

Maeve hesitated only a moment longer before she hurried forward.

His skin had the telltale paleness that would have made his condition clear to her even had his teeth not been visible. She wouldn’t have been able to tell if he had any hair if it hadn’t hung around his ears, the color so close to the silver of the moon it blended with his skin.

He was —  _ beautiful _ .

As she leaned over him to inspect the bruises and wounds he bore, icy blue eyes wandered over her face. The moment she noticed they flitted away, as if he worried what she would think of him studying her.

“What happened to you?” she asked softly, pressing a hand to a particularly deep gash and focusing on mending the skin. It knitted together, slowly, as if something was preventing healing. She frowned.

He hissed out a protest, and then shifted away from her. With a furtive glance he shrugged. “Not everyone understands or appreciates our kind. In fact, most don’t. Mortals or Otherworlders alike.”

“So which did this to you?”

She received no answer.

His wounds seemed to linger, no matter how much she tried to heal them, until her energy was drained. Deciding she couldn’t do anything more for him, she stood and considered.

“How did you get here?”

“Walked,” he croaked out.

Heaving a sigh she bent to lift one of his arms across her shoulders, and wrapped an arm around his back.

“What are you —”

“Come on. You can stay here until you’re better.”

The vampire stared at her as if she had grown another head. “I — you would — you would let me stay here?” He struggled to his feet, and tried not to lean on her, but he stumbled. When he was steady once more he glanced down at her, several inches taller so that he had to stoop to rely on her. “Why would you help me? I’m a vampire, and you’re —”

“A healer,” she interjected for him. “And you’re injured. You don’t seem to wish me any harm, so...you’re my patient.”

He fell silent as she led him into the house, and he warily eyed the fire burning in the hearth.

“There’s a spare room, with curtains. Is that — will that be enough for the sun?”

A nod met her query, and she helped him slowly make his way to the room she had converted into a guest room. He sank onto the edge of the bed once she stopped him beside it, and glanced up with a curious frown.

“What’s your name?”

“Maeve. What’s — what’s yours?”

He considered for a moment, and then whispered, “Iain.”


	7. Chapter 7

Her guest remained for days that turned into weeks.

His wounds began to heal on their own, though still slower than she expected for one of his kind. Whatever had injured him must have been magical, yet he still refused to tell her any more of what happened.

At first he kept to his room, and she would check on him in the evenings. When she realized he seemed even more pallid and irritable, she knew he needed to feed but was possibly too weak to do so himself.

In the interest of self-protection, as well as for her friends who visited, she set a small trap in the yard. It pained her to do it, but she knew it was necessary.

After all, he was her patient, too.

His acceptance of the trap was met with surprise, but she grimaced and requested that he take his prey elsewhere and remove any evidence. She left him to it, choosing to take a seat at her altar to meditate on the circle of life.

If he recovered quickly, he would leave sooner.

As he did, he began to hesitantly wander into the sitting room after the sun had set. He would sit well away from her, in the corner, and at first merely thanked her. Soon, though, he began to ask her things, curious about her life and her magic.

Some of the questions she asked in turn he answered, but many he avoided, as if they pained him. Still, their conversations fascinated her, more stories and details about the Otherworld and its ways than she had ever been able to glean from her other visitors.

And the more they spoke, the more _he_ fascinated her as well.

Iain was charming, and quick-witted, with an exuberance that often surprised her after how long he had been injured. Yet underneath it all there was a quiet pain, and he sometimes stared into the fire as if plagued by tortured thoughts.

It drew Maeve to him, wondering what troubled him — and what she could do about it. She found she couldn’t resist trying to learn more, and soon began to stay up waiting for his company in the sitting room or out in the garden.

He was almost completely healed, but he remained. Maeve found she didn’t mind.

In the evenings they began to sit closer together, until one evening he turned her face to him with a hand on her cheek, and tenderly pressed a kiss to her.

She was too odd for the young men in the village, her soul too old and her mind too perceptive. It was the first time she had felt another’s lips on hers, and her heart raced as his hands began to wander over her.

His charm and tenderness made her feel less alone, and when she pulled away she considered for only a moment.

He waited for her, looking at her curiously as if worried he had overstepped her bounds.

Maeve took him by the hand, and led him to her bed.


	8. Chapter 8

As the faintest hint of approaching dawn glowed beyond the curtains, Maeve couldn’t resist the opportunity to study the one who lay beside her.

His skin glowed it was so pale, and his silvery hair fanned across the pillow, framing him like a halo. Again she was struck by just how beautiful he was, until she noticed something else.

He no longer bore any of the wounds he had carried for weeks.

Sadly she examined the unmarred skin, wondering if it meant that he would leave. There had been no discussion, and while she did not regret it, she worried she would yet again be left alone.

At least she would have memories of his company, and that alone brought a soft smile to her lips as she watched him slumber.

An insistent rapping pulled her from her bittersweet contemplations, and she hurried to throw back the covers, seeking her silk robe before heading into the hall. Carefully she opened the door, peering out to see who it was, knocking before the dawn.

A stranger stood on her doorstep, and she had to crane her neck to look up at him. He was broad, too, until he almost blocked out the light that glowed green on the horizon. In the darkness she could hardly make out his features, his skin a warm brown that soaked up the shadows so she could only make out his silhouette.

Yet his eyes glinted with the faded moonlight, reflecting bright gold, almost like those of a cat. 

“Apologies,” he murmured, his low, deeply accented voice adding to his imposing stature. “I was searching for another of my kind, and traced his scent here…”

He trailed off, and leaned forward slightly in the silence. A slow inhalation of air followed the movement, and then he snapped straight back, eyes narrowing as he regarded her.

“He is…” Again he did not finish what he was going to say, and shifted on his feet. “I must beg your forgiveness, but I demand that you take me to him. You don’t know what sort of danger you are —”

“What?” Maeve finally interrupted, and she was surprised when he stopped speaking the moment her soft voice passed her lips.

He regarded her for another long moment, and then finally stepped closer, until she could see the elegant, sharp angles of his face. His hair was the same warm color as his skin, though there were streaks of grey at his temples and sprinkled throughout the curls that hung loosely over his forehead.

She let out a stifled gasp as he curled his upper lip back, revealing two sharp, gleaming white fangs.

“Please. I must implore you to listen — you could be in grave danger.”

The line of green along the horizon was growing brighter, and Maeve realized soon the sun would be up. Her strange visitor must be determined if he would risk being out in the daylight, and she sighed as she came to a decision.

“Come in.”


	9. Chapter 9

The fact that she now had two potentially dangerous immortals under her roof was not something that went unnoticed by Maeve.

Eyeing the stranger warily, she positioned herself in the hallway, hoping to impede any further progress.

“Now,” she began, soft but firm. “Do you care to tell me why —”

“Maeve?” a sleepy voice called from behind her. Shuffling footsteps sounded before they halted, a strangled noise coming from Iain’s throat. “ _You!_ And you — let him in?”

“The sun is nearly up —”

“Iain White, I must please ask that you leave this witch’s home and —”

“No, I’m not going with you!” Iain interrupted heatedly. “Hang the Coven, and hang the rules! You can’t make me!”

“I will not ask again,” the stranger insisted, and though his voice wasn’t raised it cut through the room like a knife.

Iain charged, and the other reacted, both in a flash. Before either could reach their intended target, though, they rebounded off an invisible barrier, slamming into the walls behind them.

“There will be no violence in this house!” Maeve shot them each a glare, her arms still extended between them, her protective shield still hanging around her.

Neither answered, merely holding their bitter gaze, and gave jerky nods of acquiescence.

“Now.” Maeve slowly lowered her arms, though stayed watchful in case either made a move. “Would either of you care to explain?”

After a moment the stranger straightened. “He is wanted for crimes against our kind. I would not have disturbed your peaceful residence if I did not believe you to be in danger.”

“It’s a lie, I — it’s a mistake, Maeve. Please, you have to believe me,” Iain pleaded. His pale eyes were wide, his brows furrowed in the perfect replica of a frown.

Yet Maeve found she wasn’t certain what to believe.

“What will happen if you take him with you?”

The stranger sighed. “He will be brought before a tribunal.” He shrugged and gestured a hand. “They will decide what to do.”

“He lies, again,” Iain countered. “They will kill me, they don’t want justice they want —”

Maeve waved a hand and shushed him, thinking hard. “What happens if he refuses to go with you?”

“Others will come. Others whose duty it will be to see that he is…”

The stranger did not need to finish his statement.

Turning back to Iain, she considered before crossing to where he stood. “Don’t you think it would be better to go? At least have a chance to explain?”

Iain slowly lowered his gaze to hers, and an iciness flitted across his eyes before he swallowed. “Perhaps you’re right.”

He pushed off the wall and cleared his throat. “Give me a moment to gather my things, please.”

The stranger nodded, and watched as Iain crossed to his room. He shut the door behind himself, and left silence in his wake.

The stranger abruptly pushed past Maeve, ignoring her protests to wait. Throwing the door open, he swore under his breath.

Iain had fled.


	10. Chapter 10

He hadn’t been who she thought.

And it would take time to accept that fact.

She had been so willing to accept him, to offer shelter, and as she meditated on the fire in the hearth she realized it was her nature that had made it so easy for him.

“I am sorry.”

Waking from a stupor, Maeve blinked and glanced over her shoulder. The stranger had asked if he could search Iain’s room, but she almost thought he had left hours ago.

Had it been hours?

She nodded acknowledgment of his words and resumed looking into the flames. He cleared his throat, and footsteps carried him to stand near the sofa, visible out of the corner of her eye.

“I wish you hadn’t been caught up in this, but it’s — not your fault —”

“I’m fine,” Maeve demurred. “Thank you for the truth.”

When he lingered longer she glanced to the side. He was watching her with a curious quirk to his eyebrows, and in this light his eyes were a beautiful hazel, taking on the qualities of the warm room around them.

For such a cold creature, all of his features belied his true nature with golden warmth.

Finally he seemed to shake himself and turned to leave.

The passage of time was something Maeve was used to, and slipping back into her role as healer suited her perfectly. No longer distracted by the possibility of not being alone, she sat in her garden, watching the moon’s phases. They soon became the only way she was aware of time passing.

Visitors to her garden returned, no longer scared by the presence of darkness in her cottage, or her absence in the garden. A doe and her fawn took up residence in one of the shelters she had erected, and the fawn often sat with his head in Maeve’s lap as she tended to her duties.

If this was all she had to expect, she found it was a contented, useful life, and she wouldn’t mind passing the years this way. Whatever taste of someone else’s life she had managed to have had been enough to sate her curiosity.

The moon had waxed and waned and was dark once more when the fawn raised wide eyes to peer behind her one night. Maeve frowned for a moment, but before she could follow its gaze a deep voice interrupted.

“Has he — uh, come back?”

With a glance over her shoulder she confirmed the familiar face, and raised her eyebrows in surprise. For a long moment she merely considered his glinting golden eyes, and then slowly shook her head.

“No. No, he hasn’t,” she told him. “I haven’t seen another of your kind since you left.”

He offered a brief tug at one corner of his mouth for a reply. “I wanted to make certain you were still all right.”

“I’m Maeve.” The impulse seized her suddenly, and she stared, patiently waiting.

Silence stretched between them before he softly answered, “I’m Aidan.”


	11. Chapter 11

Aidan’s visits, surprisingly, continued.

Maeve had settled back into her life, her role as a healer, content to keep company with the flora and fauna, and pass time with the moon. Yet every few weeks, a familiar voice would call out to her in the dark.

He worked to keep his distance, barely speaking a word beyond checking to see if she had been bothered by another of his kind. She knew he meant Iain, specifically, but accepted what seemed to be his silent guardianship now that she was known to those beyond the Light.

After a few times he began to linger, and she managed to entice him to sit slightly closer under the guise of resting before returning to whatever else he had to do. She was wary, in her own way, now that she had trusted and lost. Aidan seemed wary as well, though she knew when she wasn’t looking that he watched her. His gaze never seemed to stray far, and she wondered if he hoped she knew more of Iain and might unconsciously give it away.

Maeve did not know that he was fascinated by her, but could not figure out why.

His focus never strayed far from golden curls that caught beautifully in the moonlight, or the way her eyes took on the qualities of everything around them, reflecting the beauty of nature. At times silver as the moon; or blue like the sky; or one brown, the other green, like the trees and grass. She didn’t know his sight was so powerful he could count the freckles splashed across her nose, even in the moonlight.

He wanted to ask her how long she had lived alone, or whether her eyes had always changed that way, or what the strangest creature that had visited her had been. Instead he sat several paces behind her on an upturned milk crate and didn’t say a word.

The frequency of his visits began to increase, until it was once every two weeks, then one, then every few days, until he was visiting every other night.

And then every night.

There were nights they barely spoke, and he merely sat watching her tend to her visitors, or weave together flower crowns for the young ones. Balmy summer air gently lifted stray strands of gold and blew them across her face, and he found himself watching as they tickled across her small button nose.

“Are you lonely?”

The question broke the silence, as well as the peace between them. But Maeve hadn’t been able to resist it, wondering at how he spent so much of each night sitting in the garden with her. He still said it was to make certain Iain did not return, and yet…

Aidan pushed himself off the ground and immediately turned away, striding so quickly she could hardly get to her feet before he had disappeared into the shadows.

A strange regret seized her, and she wondered if that was it.

Luckily, it wasn’t.


	12. Chapter 12

It happened the night the unicorn came to her garden.

Unicorns were skittish creatures, Maeve knew. She had only ever met a young foal, never an adult. When a beautiful, iridescent shimmer grew through the trees, she noticed the other visitors to the garden perk up, an excitement growing in them.

As the tall, graceful creature made its way forward the others almost bowed to it, watching as it carefully picked its way towards Maeve. She smiled as it approached, and stretched a hand out to gently stroke its neck.

“Are you hungry, sir?” she addressed it, and laughed when she received a hopeful _neigh_ in answer.

Maeve luckily had fresh produce from her garden and the town market, and she gathered some before offering it to the unicorn in a large bowl. After sniffing it over the unicorn began to eat, and Maeve exhaled a happy sigh before a soft rustling caught her attention.

Glancing over her shoulder, she was unsurprised to see Aidan watching her. He seemed to be back to his old hesitation, standing at the corner of the house and not entering the garden.

“Hello,” she called. “Come see my guest —”

“I’d better not.” He shoved his hands into the dark jeans he wore, hunching his shoulders as if to make himself smaller — though he failed miserably.

“Why not? Come here.” She smiled and waved a hand in invitation, but he shook his head more insistently.

“I don’t want to scare it off. After all, I’m…”

Maeve considered for a moment, but the unicorn made the decision for her. It brushed past her, as distracted as she was by the appearance of the vampire. To her surprise it continued on its path — straight to Aidan.

His eyes visibly widened at the creature's approach, and Maeve moved to stand beside him.

“I think he likes you,” she murmured in awe.

The unicorn tugged at Aidan’s jacket with its lips, and Maeve giggled.

“What does it want from me? It should be scared…”

“Many people think they’re drawn to those who are pure of body, but that’s wrong. They’re drawn to the pure of heart,” Maeve explained.

Aidan watched it for only a moment longer, and then pulled his jacket away. “This is ridiculous!”

He threw his hands up in sudden exasperation and spun on his heel, as if determined to flee. Maeve frowned and found her feet carrying her after him, and she reached out for his hand.

“Wait —”

The instant her skin touched his he turned back to her, and in just a breath he was cupping her cheek to tilt her head up. His lips crashed against hers, and in her surprise she opened her mouth to his explorations.

When he eagerly took up an insistent dance with her tongue she audibly moaned, unable to resist the way warmth was racing up and down her body. The urgency with which he kissed her removed any doubts.

She knew now why he visited her every night.


	13. Epilogue

Every time he kissed her, it was as though he expected her to slip through his fingers.

His visits soon became prompt, so that he could be found at her side the moment it was dark enough. He greeted her with a delicate kiss to the forehead, but once he was relaxed in her presence he would pull her to his side to hold her. In more heated moments he held her against the walls of her cottage, kissing and caressing her in the shadows.

At first he seemed to do his best to resist, but she could tell their passion had much the same effect until his knees weakened much as her own did. It was strange how easily she settled into it, how much she longed for it during the day, until she was near aching by the time he was finally at her side.

The first time she invited him into her bed, he said no. The second, he took a moment before saying he shouldn’t. The third, he took her hand and led her inside, no longer hesitating at all.

After he held her close to him, letting them catch their breath, perfectly entwined together.

“I wanted to be certain you wouldn’t regret it,” he finally murmured.

“I don’t,” she answered, and her heart swelled with the truth of the words. Nestling her face in the crook of his neck, she inhaled deeply, savoring the strange smell of him.

It was like petrichor, of fallen leaves in the autumn after a cold rain, the damp moss underfoot.

“Tell me about yourself,” she requested softly.

And to her surprise, he did.

He was far older than she had imagined, able to tell her stories of the land before the Norman Conquest, of life in the time of Vikings and Gauls. His name was not, as she had continued to think it, “Aidan Doyle.” It was Aodhan Ó Dubhghaill, but he had anglicized it for modern times.

“You’d be surprised to hear vampires have mundane things like bank accounts and property insurance,” he told her, voice dripping with sardonic humor.

“Do you live near here, then?” She tilted her head up to study his face, and raised a finger to trace along his broad nose, and then down to his full lips.

He took her hand in his and pressed a kiss to her fingertips. “I do. Someday I’ll show you my ancestral home.”

“I’d like that.”

As time continued, they settled into a happiness that Maeve had long since given up expecting to find. She tended to her duties as a healer, practicing her craft during the day and early evening before he came to see her. It wasn’t until he showed up one evening with wildflowers he had picked for her that she realized this was dating, as she had never experienced.

After months of listening to his stories, she finally asked him how he had come to be a vampire. He fell silent and stared into the fire for a moment, then tightened his arm around her shoulders, pulling her into his lap. When he rested his head against her chest, she smiled softly to herself and ran her fingers through his hair, patient and expectant.

He told her of his family, of the wife and children he had had. That he had been in his fortieth year when it happened, after a battle that had left him mortally wounded. She held him to her bosom as she listened, not interrupting as he spoke of everything he had lost, of having to come to terms with his immortality.

That night she told him she loved him, and when he stared at her with wide eyes she worried she had upset him. Instead, he broke into the widest smile she had seen and told her he loved her as well, then showered her with kisses.

“Promise me one thing, Aidan,” she murmured later as they held one another in her bed.

“Anything, my beloved.”

She pushed herself onto an elbow, propping herself above him so that she could hold his gaze. “Whatever time we have together, let’s enjoy it. I’m not...I’m not meant for immortality, for hunting others to sustain myself. I don’t know what sort of monster I would become if I left the Light.”

“I would not wish that on you, darling Maeve,” he assured her. Lacing his fingers into her hair he pulled her back down to him, savoring her in a deep kiss. “I promise, beloved. We will enjoy what time we have.”

Being only of the age of twenty-six, Maeve knew that the time they had would still be quite a long while. After all, because she never fell ill and her body aged more slowly than mortals, they still likely had close to two centuries together. And that, she knew, was more than she could wish for.

He took her to the lands where he had grown up, and showed her the home he had maintained for centuries. In the grounds surrounding it he had buried all those he had loved and lost, and Maeve spent time learning their names, honoring the family that had loved him as much as she did.

In time they began to spend their time between the two houses, and Maeve continued to attract and care for the creatures at both estates. Many evenings Aidan sat beside her, others he tended to his own duties. She did her best to allow him his secrecy, not wishing to become involved in the undertakings of immortals.

It was a happy, peaceful life, though it was no longer merely duty and calling as it had been before she met him. Now it was full of love, and laughter, of stories that enthralled her and tender moments spent wrapped in one another.

Maeve was still a part of two worlds, but she now belonged fully to both, no longer caught between the two.

She was home.

**THE END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed! This turned into a fun October/Halloween writing exercise for myself, but I hope you enjoyed this fun little story.
> 
> Happy Halloween and a Blessed Samhain!  
> Lara


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